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.*･｡. HOOD! .*･｡.
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014.
LIKE THE SKY.
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   Robin nearly threw hands at Octavia, when she told her to take the dismembered fingers in material and meet her and Jasper over at Bellamy's tent, while they went and found Bellamy himself. Why couldn't they take the fingers? It hardly seemed fair. After Atom, it was a wonder Robin could take anymore graphic visuals and keep the vomit down.

   Why did she have to do it?

   But they were gone before she could argue, and so Robin did the things she was instructed. She gagged the whole way to his tent, her eyes watering at her lash line. Robin was slowly discovering that on earth, she was plenty more squeamish than she anticipated she'd be.

   She didn't wait for an invite before barging into the tent.

   No one was home — luckily — so Robin threw the fingers onto the table and did a one-eighty, trying to pull herself together. They would join her in the tent soon, and Robin didn't need everyone to see her acting like a baby. Sure, the dismembered fingers belonging to a late Wells Jaha were enough to screw anyones stomach lining; it didn't mean that Robin wanted anyone else to see her vomit. Finn had already witnessed Robin Loxely weaken and spew after Atom, and that was more than enough audience. Robin wasn't weak. She wasn't a baby, either. Robin Loxely was the hood, and she wasn't the weakest link.

    "Who else knows about this?"

   Swinging to face the tent entrance, Robin watched Bellamy lead Octavia, Jasper and Clarke.

   She ignored the urge to throw up again at the sight of princess, a sigh passing her lips when she realised Clarke deserved to be there; they were Wells' fingers, after all. She needed to know.

    "No one," Octavia answered for her the trio. "We brought them straight here," she nodded, only to hear a loud groan from the left.

    "I brought them here," Robin scowled.

    "Yeah— right."

   Rolling her eyes, Robin folded her arms and finally pulled away her narrowed vision from Octavia's figure. She looked at her boots and toed the earth beneath her, acknowledging Clarke lifting the knife that Octavia had swiped from the floor near Wells' fingers. It was interesting that she had time to do that and not the rest of the job, but Robin kept her mouth shut. In a way, she didn't blame her for it; Robin didn't really want to do her own damn job, either.

"This is metal from the dropship," Clarke spoke after inspecting the knife. She held it up and showed it to Robin, "You made these, right?"

Robin nodded.

"How many kids have them?"

"I dunno, forty?" She guessed, "Some made their own."

The blonde sighed. She rubbed her face and tried to gather her thoughts, piecing all of it together, slowly. They watched intently, hoping for some answers that she could give them. Robin hated to admit it, but Clarke was smart.

"This means the grounders didn't kill Wells..." eyes full of hurt and grief, Clarke looked at her. "It was one of us."

   "Don't look at me," Robin snipped.

   Clarke glared.

    "I made the knives but I didn't murder Wells," the girl gave her disclaimer, all the while glowering at the blonde with dark and sly eyes. "Jaha Junior had it comin'," she shrugged, acting blasé about his death. Sure, she would have loved to have been the one to wipe out Wells Jaha when he finally got on her last nerve, but Robin had some morals — she wasn't gonna take out a kid during the night, as he watched over them, making sure they were safe from grounders. If Robin was gonna kill Wells, she would have made it a fair fight. Or maybe not even then. He was an ass, yeah, but Robun wasn't a killer. Nonetheless, she proceeded to antagonise Clarke; "Shame I didn't get there first— huh?"

    "How do I know you didn't?" She threw back.

    "Oh, yeah! I murdered Wells," Robin scoffed at her attempts at blame, "Right before I chopped off his fingers then left them there for everyone to find!"

   Clarke stilled, Robin was smarter than that.

    "Cool it," Bellamy instructed.

It grew tense in the tent, the air thick enough to cut through. No one met each other's eye, too apprehensive to do so in case one of them were the murderer, which was unlikely but not unheard of. It was a camp full of delinquents— criminals. They'd all done things, some had done pretty bad things to get them there, and they knew there were murderers in camp. Robin could name three on the top of her head. So, she wasn't surprised one of the campers had killed Jaha. It was only a matter of time, really. Wells Jaha had painted a target on his own back from the second he got down there. Son of the chancellor didn't sit well with the kids his father had locked up, some innocent, and then sent to the ground to die. Wells had been a dead boy walking. No one had been in his arsenal. No one cared for him. Not even Clarke.

"So, there's a murderer in the camp?"

Robin glanced at Jasper, whom shuffled anxiously on his feet. He looked terrified, and small, and she debated whether he would fall, have a heart attack, and die alongside Wells.

"There's more than one murderer, in this camp." Bellamy spoke up, shaking his head. His face was blank, an un-telling canvas, and he casually smoothed out his jacket. "This isn't news," his tone was calm. Clearly, in his head he was building some form of plan, "We need to keep this quiet."

   Brows jumping to her hairline, Robin contemplated his words as the tent remained quiet. If there was a murderer in camp who had killed Wells, then the camp probably deserved to know. Then again, being criminals, murder was no secret. What would they learn? All the stuff they already knew? Robin wasn't entirely certain whether telling them or keeping it a secret was the better option of the two.

   Apparently, Clarke did.

   She made for the exit of Bellamy's tent.

    "Slow down," he said.

    "Get out of my way, Bellamy." She spat at him, trying to move around his body.

    "Clarke, be smart about this." Bellamy encouraged quietly. He ducked slightly to her height, "Look at what we've achieved... the wall, the patrols." His listing only made Clarke angrier, "Like it or not, thinking the grounders killed Wells is good for us."

   Robin grimaced at his words. They were tone-deaf. Clarke was still grieving over Wells' death, and he was being insensitive, even if he did have a decent point.

   But, at the end of the day, Robin didn't care about Clarke. Not enough to tell Bellamy that he needed to watch his tongue. Rather, she tapped her boot against the ground and watched the scenario, Octavia and Jasper the same. There was seldom anything good that came of Clarke and Bellamy butting heads. If Robin had given an actual toss about either of them, then maybe she would have tried to settle the oncoming dispute. She could see it in their eyes. Once again, just like their first day on earth, the two were close to hitting each other where it hurt. Usually, Finn was there.

   He did the peacekeeping.

    "Oh—" Clarke scoffed, "—good for you, you mean! What? Keep people afraid, and they'll work for you?" She scorned, "Is that it?"

    "Yeah. That's it." Bellamy's voice fell flat, but his point stood all the same. "But it's good for all of us," he beckoned to her and the three behind them. "Fear of the grounder is building that wall." It made sense, in a twisted way, and Robin pursed her lips. He didn't usually sound as smart as he did, right now. Bellamy always had an excuse, a logical reason to back his words, but he rarely showed his reasons before acting upon them. But he was now; he was making a point, a good point too, and she wondered where that Bellamy was when taking off wristbands for food. He sighed, "And besides, what are you gonna do?" Bellamy crossed his arms, "Just walk out there, ask the killer to step forward?" Once again, the point he made was fair, "You don't even know whose knife, that is."

    "Oh, really?" Clarke challenged, "J.M— John Murphy."

   Robin paled.

   Her eyes flitted to the knife, fingers twitching to grab it. She was hoping that looking at it closer would show different initials, that it would merge into two new letters, altogether. Her chest felt tight.

She knew John Murphy.

She knew him well enough to know he wasn't a killer. Sure— he was a total asshole, with a superiority complex that stemmed from the inferiority he felt through his whole life, but that didn't make it plausible for him to be a damn murderer.

Deep down, John was a good kid. Robin knew he was.

He was troubled, and problematic, but he was good. That's why she knew John in the first place: because he was a good kid, and he just needed some help. Robin had history with John, and despite it being exactly that, history, she felt her heart sink to her stomach; he wasn't a murderer, surely he wasn't a murderer. Her eyes faded to a bleak brown, was he?

    "The people have a right to know," Clarke decided, forcing her way around Bellamy and out of the tent.

    "Wait—!"

   Clarke ignored the plea and left, leaving the others to curse and follow after her. Robin was first, Bellamy behind her, fast and swift as she traced Clarke's quick foot steps.

    "No water 'till this section is up! What? What are you staring at, huh? You wanna go, dude—?"

    "You son of a bitch!"

   Robin skidded to a halt when Clarke shoved Murphy back, and sent him stumbling with her surprising strength. She stepped up to intervene, before things got out of hand and she ended up beating the life out of Clarke herself, but fingers latching around her bicep stopped her. Looking behind, Robin glared at Bellamy as he shook his head. Something in his eyes prevented her from fighting; like it made sense to him, why she wanted to intervene, like he knew her friendship with Murphy. She ripped her arm away.

    "What's your problem?" Murphy huffed.

    "Recognise this?" Clarke dangled the knife in his face.

    "It's my knife," he nodded. Murphy reached out for it but she snatched it back and away from his hands, "Where'd you find it?"

    "Where you dropped it after you killed Wells!" Her voice was so strained, painful against her throat, and everyone visibly recoiled at the claims. Including Murphy, himself. His face dropped and so did his demeanour.

    "Where I, what?"

    "You heard!"

    "The grounder killed Wells," Murphy told her, adamantly. Eyes travelling along the sea of delinquents that had begun to crowd in groups, Murphy let his gaze stop on Robin. He couldn't read her a single bit, in that moment. She was staring at him, hard. Her face, as always, was stony. Robin looked mad, and focused, like she was trying to analyse the situation. His stomach tossed over, "Not me."

    "I know what you did—" Clarke squared up, "—and now you're gonna pay for it."

   For a moment, his eyes were fearful. Then, he strapped his dick facade back on and scoffed; "Really?" He looked to the king of the camp,  "Bellamy, you really believe any of this crap?"

   Bellamy stayed silent, for once.

    "You threatened to kill him! We all heard you," murmurs came from the crowd as they listened to Clarke, muttering about all the terrible things Murphy had said and done to Jaha. None of them were innocent, but they suddenly acted almighty. Clarke made her voice louder, "You hated Wells!"

    "Plenty of people hated Wells," Murphy defended, and he was right. Barely anyone liked Wells. Clarke had even hated Wells for most of his time on earth. She was guilty, too. "His father was the chancellor that locked us up and sent us, here!"

    "But you're the only one who got in a knife fight, with him!"

    "Yeah— I didn't kill him then, either."

   Robin chewed on the inside of her cheek. She didn't believe that Murphy killed Wells, but Clarke's argument was pretty damning. It made sense. All her points added up and tied together with a neat, little bow.

    "Tried to kill Jasper, too." Octavia added, to which Robin sent a mean look her away, not helping.

   Like an animal in a cage, Murphy shuffled anxiously, feeling the crowd start to close in. When he felt vulnerable, he lashed out, and this time was no exception to the rule. With another look at Robin, who now looked torn, the boy forced a dry laugh. "Come on! This is ridiculous!" He strolled past Clarke as leisurely as he could, eyes hardened as he glared at the teenagers watching him like hawks. It was like being in the lion's den. "I don't have to answer to you," the words hit Clarke's face, alongside the spit that came with his anger and grit. "I don't have to answer to anyone!"

   Bellamy frowned, "Come again?"

    "Bellamy..." his bravery cracked, and Murphy walked over with big, begging eyes. "Look— I'm telling you, man. I didn't do this."

    "They found his fingers on the ground with your knife," Bellamy laid out the facts. In a way, he actually looked sorry for the boy, his arms crossed defensively.

    "Rob— Robin," Murphy reached for her. She inched back a tad, but let him place his hand on her shoulder. His hair flopped in his eyes, catching in his eyelashes, and he looked so innocent. Right in that moment, Murphy looked like the little kid she had helped live when he had nothing. "You don't believe this, right? You know me! You know I'm not a killer,"

   His words held other meaning, one that no one else could figure out as they watched the pair two eager eyes. It was Robin Hood in an altercation with Little John. Robin Hood and Little John were a team. And while Robin and Murphy weren't tied at the hip, all the kids knew that they were a team. They went way back. They were the only one that each other let in, that looked to have each others backs, and Robin was the only one who Murphy had shown actual kindness to since getting to the ground.

   They wanted to know what she would do, what she would say to him. Hell— even Bellamy was intrigued to hear it. Her whole hood act had been about helping the needy. That was what she did. And, right now, John Murphy was needy. He needed help.

    "I..."

   He held his breath.

   Robin sighed, "It's your knife, John."

   His face fell.

   She felt her chest shift, and suddenly Robin regretted saying any words at all. He was hurt. Broken.

   But she had been backed into a corner. Robin had to speak, she had to say something, anything, and now she wished she hadn't. His eyes had been expecting, but she didn't know what to believe. Him?

    "Is this the kind of society that we want?" Clarke stole the floor, bringing everyone's attention to her while Murphy stumbled away, looking hurt by Robin's words. Clarke gained their focus, "You say there should be no rules, but does that mean that we can kill each other, without— without punishment?"

    "I already told you!" Murphy said, "I didn't kill anyone!"

    "I say we float him!"

    "Yeah!"

   Robin and Clarke looked at Connor in horror.

    "That's not what I'm saying—"

    "Why not?" Connor shrugged, looking bloodthirsty. "Murphy deserves to float. It's justice."

    "'Cause he pissed on your jacket?" Robin criticised. It got her a glare that she easily mirrored back at him, "Get over it, jackass!"

    "Revenge isn't justice!" Clarke tried to tame the chanting crowd of delinquents, panic slowly igniting her features. She felt suddenly defenceless, out of control; a minute ago they were all eating from the palm of her hand, and now they were rising against her. Clarke had lost them in a way that Bellamy didn't. She didn't know how he got them under control. She couldn't.

    "It's justice!"

    "No—"

    "Float him! Float him!" Connor chanted.

    "Float him! Float him! Float him! Float him! Float him! Float him! Flat him!"

   As the crowd closed in, Robin felt her heart shudder. She shook her head and glared at some of the teens that came forward, their faces daring and thunderous.

   Murphy glanced for a way out, before making a break for it. His legs took him in the opposite direction but a leg stuck out and sent him flying, landing on the floor with a painful thud! The teenagers circled him and started kicking, striking him everywhere they were able to reach.

   It was sick; barbaric.

   Half of them were only doing it because they hated Murphy; he bossed them around, and acted like an asshole, and this was their way of getting revenge. This wasn't about justice for Wells. Just like the council back on the ark, they were using murder as a means to fixing problems. Right now, Murphy was the problem— not Wells Jaha's death, but Murphy. It was unjust. Robin thought they hated the ark, yet here they were: becoming the very people who sent the hundred children to die. If they did this, then they were just as bad as the ark.

    "No! Get off him!" Clarke pleaded.

    "Back off!" Robin flung herself forward, "Let him go!" She got a good hit to a boys face before he shoved her, "Back the fuck up!"

   She stumbled as another kid grabbed her shoulders and forced her away, her jaw clenching in anger. Robin tried to push through the crowd, but they moved too quickly: one second, the teens were kicking him; the next, they were bounding and gagging him; then, they were forcing him down a ditch and throwing rope over a tree branch. It all moved so quickly. It was so damn fast.

    "Get off him!"

    "John!"

    "Let him go, now!"

   Robin lost track of her cries. They dwindled in the shouts, sound taken by the wind. A group of boys wrapped a the rope around his next and hoisted him up onto a crate.

    "Let go of him!" Clarke yelled, "Let him—"

    "Stay back!" Connor forced her away from them, harshly.

   Unable to stop herself, Robin lunged at him and pushed him so hard that he nearly toppled over. She went to do it again but arms looped around her waist, tugging her back before she could do any serious damage.

    "Let me go!" She cried, fingers grabbing at their big hands. His grip stayed solid and Robin took to elbowing him with every inch of strength she had, too frazzled to recognise the pain warming up in her shoulder. Her cries grew louder when she saw Murphy as he was hoisted into the air, standing on his toes. "John!"

    "Get him down!" A familiar voice demanded. Jace raced closer to the boys holding him up.

    "Back up!"

    "Bite me!"

    "Jace— hey!" Bellamy.

   She was passed over to Jace like a rag doll.

   He wasn't as big as Bellamy, but he was close in height and he held Robin up with relative ease. She continued to kick, trying to get to Murphy.

    "You can stop this!" Clarke grabbed Bellamy's shirt, pleading with him to make this end. "Bellamy! Hey— they'll listen to you!"

   Bellamy looked from Clarke to Murphy, his muffled begs dying in the atmosphere, then to Robin. Just as he was about to step in, Connor pointed at him. He froze, already feeling responsibility on his shoulders for something he had yet to do; Bellamy knew where this was headed. He could feel it in his gut. The muscle in his jaw feathered.

    "Bellamy! You should do it!"

    "Yeah!"

    "Bellamy! Bellamy!"

    "No! No!" Robin shrieked, Jace still holding her back. "Don't do it! Bellamy, don't do it!"

    "I saw you in the woods with Atom!" Clarke clung to his jacket and pulled him back when he tried to step forward. She pointed a finger at his chest and accused him, "You're not a killer!"

   Her echoed, but ultimately meant nothing. The need to impress was overwhelming; if he wanted this crowd to follow him, then he had to give the people what they wanted. Even if that made him a monster, even if that made him a murderer.

   So, he did it.

   Bellamy stepped forward and kicked the crate, watching Murphy fall until the rope went tort, and he was dangling by his neck. The crowd cheered as he started to choke, eyes glazing over, squirming like a fish on dry land. Robin stopped fighting — the sight of him made her whole body fall still, and she watched with gaping lips, a strangled scream clawing at her throat. The world seemed to stop, and she forced Jace away from her, feeling like she was losing air at the same rate as Murphy. She couldn't focus, couldn't breathe; even when Finn appeared and demanded for them to let him down, the way Bellamy screamed at Clarke that she should've kept quiet, and Jace tried to pull her away. Even through all of that, Robin had no control over her eyes; they wouldn't look away from his red cheeks and blue lips. John Murphy was choking.

    "Stop! Murphy didn't kill Wells, okay?"

   Immediately, the crowd fell silent. They all turned to the littlest girl in camp.

    "I did!"

   Robin blinked. She stared at Charlotte emptily, before racing to Bellamy and hoisting the axe out of his belt. For a moment, Robin debated striking Charlotte with it, unsure of where her movements might lead her, but turned and cut the rope that held Murphy. She tumbled forwards and grabbed his legs, lowering him down, messy limbs and a struggle.

   She pulled the rope away from his throat as Finn removed all of his restraints and the gag from his mouth, hearing him wheeze out in anger and hysteria. Robin wiped her tearstained cheeks.

    "I'm sorry—" she cried, "I'm sorry!"

   Murphy looked into her eyes, indescribable rage as they moved past her and to Charlotte, before sneering and pushing her away.

   Finn acknowledged the hurt on her face and hoisted her up, his arms looping around her shoulder as he guided her away from the crowd. She spotted Jace landing on his knees by Murphy's side, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

   Fuck.

 
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